


The Art of Drowning

by lalalindsey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Gen, Post Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalindsey/pseuds/lalalindsey
Summary: Nobody wanted to talk about the box[Post Prophet And Loss ficlet]





	The Art of Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> WOW what an episode! It's been so long since we last had a brother scene so full of raw emotion and I fucking LOVED it.  
> Thought there would be some complicated mixed feelings following the end scene- hopefully this helps to fill in the blanks!

Nobody wanted to talk about the box. 

Dean could feel the cold metal weight of it dragging them down, slower and slower along the highway, and tried not to notice that drowning had become the theme of his life recently. 

At least he had practice, Dean thought ruefully, reminded again of Michael tossing him into an endless black expanse of ocean in his own mind. Imagining with a brief shudder another box, made of wood, that he’d crawled from so many years ago. He’d washed the blood from his nails quickly after the nightmare, told Sam not to fight it after waking from a night of doing just that. God he was such a hypocrite. 

Like it even mattered now. Sam’s broken voice and tear-streaked eyes were more than enough to talk Dean out of it. 

_You’re weak_ , Michael hissed in his mind, striking at the door of his cage jeeringly. _Your love will bring ruin, I will make sure of it._

Dean shook his head slightly, forcing the voice to the depths of his head once again, but with a sinking feeling, he realized Michael was right. For better or worse, he had never managed to choose anything over Sammy. And the world would burn because of it. 

As they pulled into the Bunker, Dean knew Sam was beginning to understand the gravity of Dean’s decision. The sideways glances he shot at Dean were tinged with both guilt and relief. As they began to unload, Dean lingered behind. 

“You guys go on in, I gotta…” he gestured vaguely at the metal box still attached to the trailer. 

Cas hesitated. “I’ll go- check on Jack,” he said uncertainly, before leaving the garage with a worried glance in Dean’s direction. 

Dean nodded and looked down at the hitch, crouching slowly in preparation to release it. 

“Need help?” 

Sam appeared above him, and Dean stood up quickly. 

“Nah,” he said. “It’s a one-man job- just gotta unlock it and put it…” he cleared his throat, “Uh, put it…somewhere.” 

Sam sighed. “Somewhere safe?” he said bitterly. “Save it for later?” 

Dean closed his eyes briefly. “Sam-“ he started. 

Sam shook his head. “Don’t,” he said. “Just- let me help.” 

Dean looked at him for a moment. Sam still looked wrecked, eyes filled with pain and exhaustion. The worry hadn’t left his shoulders, but he was still looking at Dean with something akin to faith again. 

“Okay,” he said simply. 

Sam nodded and knelt to fiddle with the hitch while Dean slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Say when,” he called, and after Sam’s thumbs up, pulled the car forward several feet away from the box. 

When he emerged from behind the wheel, Sam was looking at the box with a mixture of anger and repulsion. 

Dean cleared his throat. “All good," he said. "Time for step two." 

Sam looked up at him and nodded before slowly letting his hands come to rest on top of the metal coffin. He seemed to make up his mind about something. 

“Man, listen…” he started, “I know what you must be thinking right about now,” 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Sure you do,” he said casually. Maybe this once, Sam would drop the subject and avoid reminding Dean of his own personal disaster. 

Sam turned to face him and Dean knew his hopes were in vain. “You’re thinking you failed somehow,” he said. “You’re thinking that by deciding not to be buried with Michael, you’ve doomed the world.” 

_Give the man a prize_ , said Michael snidely in Dean’s head. 

“Look Sam,” Dean sighed. “Can we just drop this for tonight? Please?” 

Sam shook his head. 

“No,” he said firmly. “Cuz I want you to know…I need you to know that what you’re doing isn’t _weak_ , Dean. It isn’t failing. And I know you can’t see it right now because you’ve got Michael in your head and- and you don’t know what else to do but-“ 

“How is it NOT weak, Sam?” Dean burst out angrily, slamming the car door and wincing as Michael’s laughing echoed in his mind. “Don’t get me wrong man, I am freakin’ jazzed not to be swimming with the sharks just yet. But I’m telling you, this is a selfish play. There’s no way around it.” 

“And I’m telling you it’s not,” Sam responded strongly. “Because there will be another way. There will. And in the meantime? Fighting for your own life isn’t selfish Dean. It’s _strong_.” 

Dean looked away. “I’m not doin’ it for myself.” He muttered.

“I know.” Sam said quietly. “But I am. And I need you to believe me- I need you to _promise_ me, that we’re gonna fight this together. Like we always have.” 

“Look, I meant what I said, okay?” Dean said. “I told you I’d fight, and I will.” Ducking his head to meet Sam’s eyes, he repeated lowly. “I will, Sammy.”

_Empty promises_ , Michael hissed as Sam nodded and swiped quickly at his eyes. _You will break, Dean. And poor little Sammy will bear witness to the destruction born of your failure._

Dean ran a hand over his face tiredly, trying to block out everything but his own thoughts, his own emotion. 

“I’m not gonna go behind your back on this again, Sam.” he said. “Whatever happens, happens, and I hope I’m there to see it. But I ain’t gonna lie to you...” he shook his head and exhaled. “I don’t see a way out of this for me. I don’t know if I can hold him much longer.” 

“If anyone can, it’s you,” Sam said firmly. His face clouded briefly. 

“But I meant what I said too,” he said. “If you’re ever gonna do this- and I mean _if_ -“ he swallowed and met Dean’s eyes, “Then you’re not doing it alone.” 

A heavy silence hung in the air for a few moments while each brother contemplated the crushing uncertainty of the days ahead of them. 

“So…where should we put this?” Sam asked finally, breaking the silence and tapping the metal box. 

It was a loaded question. Dean could feel the weight of it as he leaned and placed both hands on the coffin he had so painstakingly built. The metal burned his hands cold. He breathed out. Not drowning yet, he thought. You sonofabitch, you can’t make me drown again yet. 

“We’ll put it in the storage garage,” he decided. “Cover it up, out of the way...” 

He glanced at Sam and the brothers shared a hint of a smile. Maybe it wasn't quite hope yet, but the shadow of it that passed between them. It was enough. 

“Make room for something else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the poem 'The Art of Drowning' by Billy Collins 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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